Imagine you have this friend, who, for reasons that will become clear later on, is named Capitol Hill Block Party. Now Capitol Hill Block Party and you aren't super close friends, you were maybe neighbors in a dorm or something and Capitol Hill Block Party's over-exuberant extroversion and your near-pathological need to be friendly to strangers means that you strike up a friendship. Meanwhile, all of your close friends find Capitol Hill Block Party unbearable: too loud, no concern with personal space. So when Capitol Hill Block Party runs into you at the grocery store or something and says that he's having a big party and there will be bands, because you're really into live music right, and lots of women, and you should come, dude, you sort of noncommittally say yeah.
So you're at the party, and you've been to parties like this before, Capitol Hill Block Party is all wrapped up in the comings and goings of his closer friends, and Capitol Hill Block Party's friends are split off into groups, all seeing people they haven't seen in months, all super excited to see each other. And you're kinda off by yourself. You knew this would happen, and you're ok with it, because you're here for the music anyway, but as another one of Capitol Hill Block Party's hyperaggressive friends realizes that with a good hard shove they can get by you and closer to the stage, you start thinking, maybe your friends are right, Capitol Hill Block Party is kind of a dick.
But you're there for the music.
I arrive mid-set for this one and wished I had arrived earlier. A young woman with a electric guitar and a guy with my sophomore year roommate's haircut on drums played an original before launching into a cover of Dylan's Knockin' on Heaven's Door. This is the type of music that I would play in the dying hours of a barbecue and drunkenly argue is the most beautiful shit in the world.
There was a huge rush to the main stage for this, but there was nothing for me there.
In the future humanity wipes itself out, somehow. Aliens with a heavily archaeological/anthropological culture come settle our planet and have a field day. Oh also they perceive time differently from us so all of our existence seems like a single second to them. So really even though you're long gone, from all the material we've left behind, and the huge time they're able to spend analyzing every last detail, these aliens will know you far better than you know yourself. And they conclude, yes, even though these songs are very short, they can and will in fact classify The Intelligence as space rock.
Of course said aliens have also analyzed this blog very heavily and concluded that I don't know shit about music.
Another main stage show. I had the sense that whatever these people were doing they were doing it well, but I had no idea what they were doing or whether it had any merit. I left and bought myself some fried catfish. Man, Pike Street Fish Fry, how do you do it? How are your employees burning themselves and taking way too much time to determine which fried blob is shrimp and which is fish and yet making the most fucking amazing fried fish in the world. You guys!
When I came back from fish, I think they were playing some song that featured on an old Pandora station of mine
There's a genius to Girl Talk and that genius lives in the transitions. It beats you back for an instant, like a profound realization, and then it sort of sits around and you smile in realization that you just comprehended something significant. This feeling is best enjoyed stoned, several years ago, in a dorm room, and putting oneself in the middle of a crowd for it does not yield the intended results.
Escaping from the madness of the main stage, I found Bleached. The only thing I have to say is that I used up all my opinions and I wish I was not in a state to make an evaluation. But failing that, I'm filing this under: music I'd listen to while driving, music I'd play softly at a beach to give the impression it were in fact distant, but wasn't.